


Jordan and the Wolves of Beacon Hills: Book 1 - Promises

by trethlus



Series: Jordan and the Wolves of Beacon Hills [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Wolf Stiles, Can you crack the (0|)3?, CodedFic, Interactive Fic, Multi, Mythological, Need Codewords to Continue, Post Season 1, Secret Lairs, Secret Organizations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trethlus/pseuds/trethlus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RECEIVING INCOMING TRANSMISSION:<br/>"1 83L13V3 Y0U J0RD4N. F1ND P45C4L. 60 T0 B34C0N H1LL5."</p><p>There's a scaly killer on the loose, and Derek just chose to fulfill a promise made long ago to his father. But when OC JORDAN arrives with the news that the werewolf genome is being harvested for a world-shattering prospect, the new Alpha and his friends may end up on a journey that is way over their heads.</p><p>Read closely, and look for the signs. They need YOUR help to gather to clues, crack the codes, and find out what lies in this journey across the world.<br/>(Read as: After some point, a blog post has to be opened. For that blog post to open, someone has to either comment or message me the code word to continue. Ch 11 has been cracked. Ch 12 is next.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Diary Journal 42: Poseidon don’t have no hold on this sea.

**Author's Note:**

> (As of 1/15/2015) This story has been up a while. Most of these chapters have secrets in them. Messages, links, codes- an interactive mystery fantasy fanfic. I posted 6 chapters on ff.net, and posted more on a third party secret site as part of the story. No one found the hints though. So I have been rewriting this to make it easier. 
> 
> Then, I had to make it even easier cause traffic stopped after Chapter 11. 
> 
> So, I'm moving it to ao3 (cause I can't deal with posting in 5 places..) and I hope you can catch on and move this story along. Start making notes. Code words will start soon.
> 
> Some chapters are blog posts by the main OC, like this one. Wolves and Beacon Hills people start to show up on Chapter 3. Setting is post Season 1 ending.

How can this happen? Every fiber of my being still can’t believe it;  
Even now that it’s been 7 years since this nightmare started. But now, I can relax in front of the  
Library having a banana-nut muffin with my tall iced mocha double frappe chocolate caramel ice mint  
Plain cappuccino with whipped cream and cinnamon while reading a novel by Lydia White,  
My favorite writer. 

Eventually, I decided that I didn’t care much for the sweetness of the coffee. I’d have it straight black, no  
Cream. This is what my peers drink though: a smorgasbord of flavors and sugars covering the bitter taste  
Of life. Hah. Everyone took a drink like this in stride. For me, it felt like my life became a drink. Then, that  
Nasty drink was covered with flavors, sugars and calories: sweet, sweet calories.

Recently, I’ve been more contemplative. My mind just won’t shut up. Flashing memories drown me:  
A never-ending playlist of a more dangerous time. I try to shut it out as I read on. 

..oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo..  
  
 _Dragons surrounded Ryu, a bitter insult from destiny, when suddenly dozens of **kunai** and **shuriken** _  
_flew from the shadows. It must’ve happened in a nanosecond. In a blink of my eye, all the carnage,_  
 _every strike and slash, reduced the ninjas to chunks of meat; cut clean through the bone. My mouth_  
 _remained hanging for the next second when I feel the tug of a muscled arm on my stomach. Rin_  
 _raised me on his shoulders as he jumped through the skyline of Nepal._

_“You? What are you doing? Let me go! Ryu is still back there! We have to go back!;” I shouted  
at the top of my lungs._

_“Too dangerous. Plus, I’m sure he can handle himself.;” Rin replied, avoiding my stare._

_“No, he can’t fight in his condition! His shoulder is still in a sling!;” I said, as my voice cracked._

_I was shaking. One, I was still on Rin’s shoulder. Two, I was scared for my life. Three, I’m above_  
 _Nepal’s rooftops, carried by jumps of haste and need. We were running for dear life. From fatigue, I_  
 _entered a deep sleep, not knowing if I was truly safe with Rin, a man surrounded by danger._  
  
..oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo..

“Trying to hide from me, John?”; a voice said to my ear. I fell (err, flailed) out of my seat, clumsily. 

“Hey, I hope I didn’t scare you. Watcha doin’, buddy?”; the man replied.

I just laughed. Back in my chair, I said; “Nothin’ much. Just chillin’. Oh, and I knew you were coming.”

“Really? Is that why there’s some spilled cream cheese on your shirt?;” he teased.

“That’s whipped cream from my drink. I spilled some earlier.” I reasoned.

“You can keep on telling yourself that. I’ve been here for 5 minutes staring at you, trying to grab your  
Attention. You were all zoned out, eyes lethargic and all.” he said.

“Lethargic? What do you mean ‘lethargic’? All I know is that I’m here reading this story-“

Flashes of light suddenly catch my eye. My muscles tightened ready to duck and run to the nearest post. 

_Racing across the field will get me to my .40 caliber handguns quickest. I’ll be a sitting duck. I saved that  
Entry point for a night attack. Shoulda planned that better.;_ I thought, cursing under my breath.

Deciding guns are better than no guns, I prepare to run across the field with a slight turn of my head.  
If this was a rookie, I have to be extra careful. He would be erratic, nervous from the first kill. Plus, his  
Shot may be off and could hit a random civilian, or worse: someone I knew. I have to play it cool.

Acting tired, I yawned and stretched my back. I fell backwards off my seat, back-tucking and rolled once.  
Finding my balance, I stood up rubbing my head, looking as aloof as possible. My clumsy act allowed me  
To end up behind the library columns. Perfect.

“Ehehe. Guess you’re right. Though lethargic ain’t the word I’d have used.;” I said, leaning on the post.

“Reeeaaaal smooth, Mr. Acrobat.;” he replied rushing over. “You didn’t break anything, right?”

“Besides my pride? Nah. Can you hand me my backpack?”

“Let me look at your head first. You might have a concussion or something.”

“Ugh. I didn’t hit my head. Listen, I gotta go. I’ll call you later about the Literature pop quiz you luckily  
Evaded. “

“Professor Samuels had a pop quiz? Man! On the day I decided not to go to class…”

“Really? Like every class? You’ve been in class for only 4 times this month!;” I teased. “It’s a good thing  
I still decide to lend you my notes, even if we’re still sort of strangers. “

“Now you’re not going to change your mind, are you? We’ve been buds since-“

“Trig class. Yup. Trigonometry with Professor Stein, last semester, a month ago.;” I said, proving a point.

“Still mad for scaring you earlier?;” he asked. “Nah, I’m teasing.”; I replied. I walk away, waving my hand.

 _Good.;_ I thought. _No more distractions. No more liabilities._ The flashes looked like they’re coming out  
Of a window from the Mathematics building, though I wasn’t sure.

 _Foolish mistake.;_ I thought. _There are only 3 reasonable exits from that point. There are 9 landmarks that_  
Obstruct the view. Not to mention, the fact that the Math building is NEVER empty. Too many witnesses-  
“Rookie” written all over it.

Out of nowhere, I heard laughter and I see my enemy: a group of freshmen huddled up,  
Passing a hacky sack covered in red sequins just by the entrance of the Math building.

Ego shot down hard, I sighed my biggest sigh of the day. I still felt my ears pounding, my poor heart  
Racing at ten times the speed of light. I was too jumpy. I shouldn’t be. This was all in my past. I  
Allow myself to laugh over the stupidity and fear surrounding the situation. 

There will never be use for my stashes across campus. No one is chasing you. All this time, all of this  
Isn’t a marathon where you **_“weed out the weak and pathetic mortals and prime the Greek warriors  
_** **_Of our time.”_** No, it’s just another day of school full of classes, breaks, thinking, and remembering.  
Nostalgia is definitely not of this day. **_No one will die as they reach Athens._**

 

 

..oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo…  
  
 _Fits of rage and anguish. Screaming in the distance. Bloodied hands grabbing a lock of auburn hair…_

_I… I didn’t know where I was, or what I was seeing. All these images were overwhelming and the only_  
 _reason I breathe, the only thing I wanted to say was his name… “Rin…”_

_Exiting the trance, I felt guilty. Why? Why did I say Rin’s name? Ryu has been there for me since_  
 _before this mess started. He’ll be there when this catastrophe ends. And how do I repay him? How do_  
 _I show the gratitude not yet seen by the hands of time? I slip Rin’s name…_

_Reaching a stop, Rin lets me down in an unknown hotel room and turns to leave. I collect my thoughts_  
 _dreading the journey ahead. No more words left my lips that night, as I ached of despair and confusion._  
  
..oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo….oOo…


	2. prologue (Matt Arc Chapter 0)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The distress call has been made. Did you catch it, dear reader? The thing with codes is there's always more than meets the eye.
> 
> I saw a film once, about something everyone has, but never loses.  
> Well I lost mine somewhere in the middle.  
> But I guess it was around me all along." - J.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All numbers, locations, details are made-up. Any match-ups to real life are purely coincidental. I own nothing.
> 
> Beacon Hills characters start next chapter and will be very melodramatic.  
> Try to catch the movie quotes.

**SOMEWHERE IN LOUISIANA, 1st POV**

The phone rings twice, then ends. The phone rings once, then ends. The phone rings four times, then ends. The phone rings once more when I finally pick it up.

“CONRAD”

“TROJAN,” he replies.

“It’s JORDAN now.”

“Yeah well, you might want to consider taking up old habits after you drop bombs like the one from your past blog post.”

“You close by? I’m not sure this line is as secure as I want it to be..”

“5 o’ clock, blue truck. No funny business.” 

I pick up my duffel bag, breathe deep the muggy swamp air, and head over. It’s been a while since I had to keep a poker face on. I knew that frustration was written all over my forehead. Not to mention the beads of sweat just rolling down my cheeks scream “I’m screwed and I know it”. I had two handguns around my waist and one in my right sock, all locked and loaded. I was struggling to push away memories that threaten to engulf the moment.

I attempt to look the driver in the eye but no deuce. He wore a black shirt, (on a hot Louisiana day?! Really?), worn-out jeans, a cowboy hat, and sunglasses. His body language cried stress and serenity at the same time. He was in a tricky situation and he loved every second of it. Dust clouds rolled off the street as I crossed it. I walk up to the car as windows roll down.

“The sun is shining,” I started.

“Aw, hell naw. I am NOT gonna reply with some lame movie crap at this time.”

“The SUN is shining,” I insist.

He sighs. “But the ice is slippery. Now get in the damn car before I leave you here for the gators.”

I chuckle as I get in. My grip on my rucksack doesn’t let up one bit. I may know of CONRAD but I can never truly know him. It comes with the game: liabilities and responsibilities. Ask no questions, live your own lies.

The car starts and we’re off. He turns on the radio and runs it over to the Country station. To each his own I guess. I for one can only stand so many songs about living on cornfields or the prairie. The Children of the Corn series just did me in and I can no longer stand the scenery. Give me cities with the screams of random people being mugged anytime.

“So, how’re the wife and kids?,” I start.

“Y’know I can’t talk about stuff like that. Hell, you could probably figure that out by yourself. Those 3 years of practice weren’t supposed to be for fun memories, y’ know?”

We pass a couple of fishermen down in their luck and I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“O-on to business?,” I prod. He raises an eyebrow at my stutter, and chooses to ignore it.

“Yeah, well get on with it. I only have an hour’s window before sirens start wailing back at HQ.”

“I need as much ammo you can give me. I salvaged as much as I could back at my old campus, but it ain’t enough: A couple of SG 550’s, six handguns with 40 or so clips, a revolver, an AK-47, and an M40.”

He whistles in awe. “What? Forgot yer Rambo gun at the cafeteria?”

“Actually, the Rambo gun was at the library stash.” I laughed out loud.

I shut myself up as I shift again in my seat. I was too rusty. I just gave away two positions to a stranger: Rookie mistake number 14. Damn.

“How about info? A base of operations? Some Kevlar?”

“Cash would suffice. Aside from that, I’d rather not tie myself down to you. You got me out of this specific situation already. I don’t want you sucked in any further.”

“That’s that Greek warrior mentality kicking in. This ain’t no solo race, TROJAN or JORDAN or whatever. Operation Firebird is a suicide mission, plain and simple. On the occasion that you don’t wipe out all 10 operatives, the survivors can appoint and rebuild and all of this craziness will be a waste of time.

You were the first one to stay smart throughout the whole process. It took you only 3 years to get through basic training. That’s the record previously held by-“

“-ALFRED,” I cut him off. “I know, I know. I’m in this too deep and I do things my way: the old way I’ve been taught before I got out of that operation. But still, I got something they want, and I can’t rest and live the normal life I want to live. Not until one of us is completely annihilated.”

“That’s where we came in.,” he chimes in, with the tiniest hint of smugness and pride.

And that, well. That just crossed the line for me.  
“Yeah well, moral support didn’t cut it during the big escape. Y’all didn’t budge one bit. Y’ALL didn’t want to get too attached. The escape was a test, I get it, and I passed with flying colors. And with all this, there’s still no way I could get y’all to trust me because of my history with the organization,” I explode.

I hated begging for help from these bastards. Ask a favor, then I have to pay back ten. It just ain’t worth the time. But, keeping a low profile meant keeping a low living cost. And security in my past life was expensive. Now, I couldn’t get the resources quick enough. 

Static crackled from the radio as the sun was getting lower in the Louisiana sky. I pulled out a black stick and immediately pressed some buttons by my belt. Silence filled the air and I breathed a sigh of relief. CONRAD just stared on in the highway and out of nowhere spoke. “It’s called being in the middle of nowhere, where reception ain’t what it’s supposed to be. Besides, my Aloha Girl here on the dashboard ain’t just for redneck show. It’s doubles as a mic and bug detector too.” He flicks the dashboard ornament and it sways to and fro.

Minutes later, we pull up to a used car lot in the middle of nowhere and CONRAD passes me a tall stack of cold hard cash. I get off and look at him one more time as he stares on down the road. He flicks the toothpick he’s been playing with for the past hour like it’s a thin cigarette.

“HQ was this close to pullin’ the plug on you, thinking you were clear. Good thing I still kept my surveillance code on your Blog. “Poseidon don’t have no hold on this sea,” huh? Well, next time, don’t make your cipher too damn obvious. Secret messages over the internet are s’posed to be secret. You said it yourself. They’re still watching,” he warns.

“Hey, most of the readers probably never saw the message. No one is that paranoid to check a blog for secret messages.,“ I explained. 

“Yeah, well whose crazy ass idea was it to write a hidden message in a blog post that was s’posed to be some chapter of some weird ass story of fiction for the whole damn public to read?”

“It was John Smith’s idea.”

“Really? Your fake identity’s John Smith? And you gave him feelings and a personality? 

Huh. A real message about a real threat from a fake blog post from a real blog of a fake identity by a real DUMBASS in need of another fake identity because he’s in real trouble. Jeez.”

”Yeah well, fuck you. I was living the normal life that I wanted. And now that I lost it again, I wanted the corporation to see that enough is enough,” I said as I slammed the door and cautiously turned around to walk away. It’s uneasy to turn my back to someone. Hope he sees the message that I trust him with my life at the moment. He rolls down the window behind me and shouts.

“Hell, you better tell me how you found out the news over coffee sometime tomorrow! You owe me big time, Jordan! Just call me anytime!”

I flipped him off as I perused my surroundings. I’m in the middle of the swamp about to pick a used car and go back into hiding. And all I could think about is emailing my professors about an excuse to be absent for the next couple of months. That car I’m about to pick better be rock-solid, cause this semester is about to be one helluva ride.


	3. Tetris And Pacman (Matt Arc Chapter 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You kept taking more of me, but bigger I grew.  
> I wish you knew how to fill me too.
> 
> I opened up to the world,  
> but they just tried to cover me up, like the blemish that I was." - J.

**BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL, STILES POV**

"The Trojan War: A Presentation by Stiles Stilinski

The War started when this one guy thought that this other guy's chick was cute. So like, all logical men of their time, they started a war over her. One side of the war was favored by some Greek gods and vice versa. In the end, one group thought: "Hey, let's make a giant horse and fill it up with people and kill everyone when they sleep."

I personally thought that would've been a bad idea because what if someone had to go REALLY bad. Or worse, if someone had Mexican food and had gas afterwards. Ha, that'd be weird: Mexican food in Ancient Greece. It would've made that horse smell really bad.

Oh, uhm- so the Trojans won, and somewhere down the line people thought it'd be funny to name computer viruses and condoms after them. So, yeah. The Trojan War. "

The students perked their ears up when they heard the word 'condoms.' Some of the jocks high-fived one another. The rest, well- they were about to fall out of their seats from boredom.

_Damn. I don't think I'm gonna pass this class anytime soon,_ Stiles thought. _God, Professor Pascal just super face-palmed._  
*BOOP*  
 _And now, he just face-desked himself. Ha. He should hit his face with a book and friend me over facebook. God, that was lame. I should sit down now._  
"Thank you, Stiles for that- informative presentation. I will give you a D+ for all your colorful and… inspired visual aids. Perhaps, you can make it up to a B- if you have a 10 page paper on the detailed contents of the story, and how it might have been impossible for the Greeks to have Mexican food and that time and place. Due by the end of the week of course. We need to talk more about the details before you leave class," said Mr. Pascal, obviously fighting a migraine. ( _"God, I'm tired of teaching high school," Stiles thinks he hears Mr. Pascal mutter under his breath._ )

"Next up, Scott McC- " the bell rings and everyone heads for the next period.

Scott didn't know he was holding his breath until then. He runs out the door and looks for Allison... leaving Stiles behind once again. As Stiles starts packing up his three totally awesome presentation boards full of glitter and pictures and different fonts and a comic book Stile-lized theme, Dr. Pascal calls him over.  
Stiles couldn't help but overhear when Dr. Pascal's phone rings off with the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers theme twelve times in succession. His professor jumps up and sees 20+ messages, and immediately pockets his phone. Stiles gave him more cool points for his awesome ringtone. But 20 messages in the same second? That's another cool mystery for Captain Obviously Awesome and his sidekick Wolfy. Maybe. 

* * *

**3rd POV**

Dr. Pascal brushed off the onslaught of messages and has a million things in his mind when he finally remembers his most "prized"  student is right in front of him. "Yes, Mr. Stilinski? You had a question?"

"Err, you called me over Pacman- err, Mr. Dr. Pascal, sir." Stiles said.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. No need for formalities, Stiles. Your classmates are gone. I actually wanted to talk to you about our video game tourney tonight."

"Oh dude, I'm so totally gonna PWN you at Tetris. I mean you have me at Pacman, hence your nickname, but man no one can beat me at Tetris, one time, I was eating my anchovies and Oreos pizza and was choking but I still beat Scott by- "

"While I find playing games with you fun and challenging and the fact that I find your stories of food combinations nauseatingly interesting, Stiles, I really think I should postpone this tourney for another week or two," Mr. Pascal said, cutting him off. Oddly enough, his fingers do the triangle-of-bad-news-or-bad-intent as this happens. It really made Stiles wish Dr Pascal had a British accent. Or that he was an evil villain doctor genius scientist person.

"WHAT? I mean, come on Pacman! Biweekly tourneys have been our tradition since I successfully tracked you down off of those E-boards online! I mean, you're like the coolest high school teacher ever and I was practicing all weekend long! This has been the only thing keeping me busy since Scott has been wolfy training with De- I mean, *cough* since Scott has been working so hard with his study groups with Allison, " Stiles ranted at the speed of light.

Dr. Pascal raises his eyebrow in disbelief.  _Stiles and Scott know about the werewolves in Beacon Hills? Damn, and I really liked these kids. Ehh, who knows. Maybe I can reel them in to our side later on._

"Stiles, as your teacher, I need to advise you to finish your paper first, and do well on it. I'm not supposed to have favorite students. But, well, I can't damn lose my gaming buddy just because he's failing my class, can I? And, no, I can't let this slide, or give you a curve, cause that's cheating. And as you know, I rely on skill and not cheats."

"Says the guy scouring E-boards on how to get mods for his Pokémon game," Stiles retorts.

"Ha! I am shocked! That's different! Pokémon is a highly difficult game that is designed to make you lose!" Dr. Pascal says, pretending to be hurt. He smirks and lets Stiles leave for his next class. He hears Stiles chuckle and mutter something about a 10 year old cousin beating the game again and again.

* * *

Stiles realized he forgot his only pen. He starts to double back to his English class.

Thinking that Stiles is out of hearing distance, Pascal flips open his phone.  
 _"Codename: PASCAL here. Security ID 42564182. What's your status?"_  
*pause*  
 _"CONRAD was on the move? Does this have any connection with Agent TROJAN?"_  
*pause*  
 _"I see… Operation FIREBIRD, huh? Well, I'm almost done with my research here in Beacon Hills. Extraction of the werewolf genome is almost complete thanks to the in-fighting between the hunters and the wolves._

_If we're lucky, I might've found my future protégé and a wolf recruit. I'll keep you posted on their,_ **re-education.** _Pull up all the files on:_  
 _Genim Stilinski; Social Security 555-26-2678_  
 _Scott McCall; Social Security 555-32-7428._  
 _I'll need all the info I can get to, shall we say, **persuade**  them to further our cause." _

PASCAL then pulls out one of his 11x11x11 Rubik's cubes and starts solving it at a blinding speed. He soon starts off chuckling to himself as he continues to build a plan to capture one Derek Hale, and two new specimens for his program.

Stiles was conveniently outside the door, hoping to catch a small glimpse of Pacman's social life. Maybe news of a girlfriend or a wife that he can tease him with in the future. Or maybe his mom texts him to see what's up. Cool professors have cool moms that text, right? There had to be some juicy dirt on him.

But Stiles did not like the sound of this call.  
Security ID's?  
Operation Firebird?  
Werewolf genome?

How did Pacman know his and Scott's Social Security numbers? He didn't even know that!

And what's with this protégé stuff? He most certainly did not like the sound of the words re-education or persuade.

I guess some research needed to be done. Good thing he didn't have homework or anything...

...Oh wait, he does. Damn, I guess Pacman really is a smart evil villain doctor genius scientist person.

I should probably buy him a hairy kitty in the future.

Aaaaaand it's probably safer if I just steal a pen from Scott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mythology 101 with Dr Pascal.  
> What a class, am I right?
> 
> And yes, I stuck with Genim as Stiles first name. I had to choose a head-canon sooner or later.
> 
> Making notes?  
> You're probably not making the right ones.


	4. rUN CHAnGe & HOWl (Matt Arc Chapter 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I had such a sheltered childhood, that is  
> until I lost a tooth fighting out the streets I grew up.
> 
> When I learn to crawl on my own,  
> to trick and deceive-  
> That's when wisdom struck me by surprise." - J.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melodrama alert. We arrive in Beacon Hills. Are you forgetting anything? Maybe a comment can give you hint. Or maybe you been receiving some hints this whole time.

**HALE "ESTATE," DEREK POV**

Another tree crashes to the ground with a deafening CRACK. All this anger and rage, it’s deafening and tiring. Another mauled tree, another broken boulder. I cannot take another life. I can’t. That first taste of blood will be electrifyingly, scintillatingly powerful. I won’t be able to fight the instinct.  
The instinct to maim.  
The instinct to howl.  
The instinct to make the pack grow.

It must have been late in the afternoon when I spent most of my energy. Beads of sweat roll of my muscular form and the fatigue arrives in waves. Shit. I was regaining energy already. I need to feed. I need to breed. I need to find a way to distract myself before I lose control.

“The stupid teenagers,” I whisper to no one. They could devour my time. Or I’d devour them. 

Shaking my head of this delusion, I break another tree. I'll shave it down to 2x4 boards. Might as well rebuild the house. Might as well use the present to block the memory of the past.

* * *

**3rd POV**

That night, he was restless. Memories of the fire caught his head. Memories of his uncle, of Kate, and of innocent Laura. All he could remember is her corpse. The shock in her eyes.

He awoke in a cold sweat, and recognizes a scent. One of the irritating teenagers, the needy one, is pulling up outside. What the fuck could he want from me at this point of night?

“Derek! I know you’re in here!,” Jackson Whittemore shouts, false bravado rolling off of him. His heart on the other hand, beats at a rapid pace. _I am here to get the bite,_ he decides. _To get what I deserve. Watch me, Universe: I will finally get what I deserve._

“What do you want, Whittemore? That is, aside from your growing an actual spine for once?,” taunts Derek from the top of the flight of the stairs.

“I was here, Derek. I helped you get what you want. Now, it’s my turn. Give me the bite!,” demanded Jackson.

Derek smirked. In one bound, he leaped down the flight of stairs right into Jackson’s personal space. He sniffed the boy’s neck: Fear. The instinct to run. “Why do you think I’ll even consider giving you the bite?”

“Because I deserve it! It’s r-rightfully mine!,” shouted Jackson.

“What you deserve is death. Which is what you can get from my bite. It’s pretty much a 50/50 chance. There’s no guarantee it will take,” explains Derek as he glares down at the teen.

Jackson couldn’t help but gulp. _I could die from the bite? What sick loophole is this?,_ he thinks. And that blip of lack of faith disappears.  
“This time it will take. I’m destined for greatness, and this is how I’ll get it. ”

“I could bite you, or I could just maul you to death. Either way, I have been antsy here in this dark gloomy house all day. I’m itching for a chase," Derek declares. Energy seems to ripple behind his glaze. Control didn't seem to stay in his grasp. That, combined with the brutality of the call of the wild, was never a good combination.  
"How about it, Whittemore?," he soon challenges the teen. "Tire me out and I’ll give the bite. If you disappoint me however, I’ll just have a large Jackson steak dinner instead,” Derek said. The instinct to spill blood. The instinct to feed. The instinct to add to the pack.

Jackson steps back. “You wouldn’t.” The instinct to run. The instinct to run now and not look back.

“You’ll have roughly a 5 second head start, Whittemore. I suggest you use it,” says Derek, as his jaw starts to snap in and out of place. His body shifts and tears as muscles bulge and fur grows. His claws sharpen with every swipe of his arms.

Jackson runs for his life. All that he remembers is the urge to scream.

* * *

**STILINSKI CASTLE, I MEAN HOME, STILES POV**

Stiles scratches his eyes and takes another pill. It’s 2 in the morning and he’s on page 8 of his totally super awesome paper. “Ha, Pacman! Think I’d need a whole week to finish a 10 page paper? You underestimate the powers of Captain Obviously Totally Awesome!”

His hand was shaking but his fingers were moving at the speed of light. “Control C, Control V, Control C, Control V, edit, edit, edit!! Gotta love Google and Wikipedia!! Done! I have all my data and my first draft. Now I shall edit tomorrow after a good 4 hours of sleep. God, I wish I had a cupcake right now. Ooh, or Mexican food. Hmmm… twelve tacos and a large burrito. And two diet sodas, since I have to watch my figure since I don’t have a super wolfy metabolism that everyone in Beacon Hills seems to have!”

 _That 24-hour Taco place is a good drive away, and it’s pretty close to Derek’s. Hmm, I wonder if Derek eat’s Mexican food? Ha, knowing him he’d actually eat Mexicans. Or the food itself, since sometimes the meat they use looks like it’s made of dog food. Hmm, I wonder if they actually use dog food? Another mystery to be solved by Detective Stiles Stilinski!! God, I’m hungry. Where are my keys?,_ his mind rambles along.

Sheriff Stilinski walks in from his night shift as Stiles was headed for the door. 

“Whoa, hold on buddy. Where are you headed at this ungodly hour?,” the Sheriff asks.

“On a taco run, dad. I have an all-nighter to finish and my brain is screaming FEED MEEEEEE. So, I’m here to fulfill the instinct to feed. A-thank you,” Stiles answers with a curtsy.

“Uh-huh, you do know that there’s probably still a wild animal on the loose on the streets and that it could be dangerous.”

“Don’t worry, dad. I’ll use my super awesome Stiles Fu to defeat it. But, if it makes you feel better, I’ll just floor the gas pedal on dear Maggie instead, to get away from the big bad Wolfie. I won’t even leave my jeep. I’ll just drive-thru, then drive home.”

“Okay, well call me if anything happens. I’m headed to bed. It’s been a brutal double shift,” the Sheriff yawns.

“I’ll be careful. Anything you want for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Bacon and eggs would be amazing,” the Sheriff wonders.

“Okay, turkey bacon, egg whites, and whole wheat toast it is.”

The sheriff spares him a tired glance. “You’re killing me you know that.”

“It could be worse, Dad. I still have some bland oatmeal in the pantry.”

“Yum. Just add some arsenic to it and it will finish me off faster.” The Sheriff ruffles Stiles perfectly awesome buzz cut hair and heads to bed. Off Stiles goes, successfully neglecting to save his beautifully awesome paper before leaving. Oh well, it’s not like anything can happen to his computer anyway.

* * *

**SCOTT POV**

I always end up running. Luckily, my asthma’s gone. As well as most of my clumsiness. But along with that, my normal past is gone as well. All that’s left is Allison. She’s the one I have to protect. She’s the only one I need. She’s the one that has family who would gladly hunt me down and kill me in a heartbeat. She’s the one who saves me in the end.

 **FLASHBACK**  
We were alone in her car, making out of course. I could smell her, feel her every need. I was lost in her lips, her eyes, her everything. The instinct to become one. The instinct to change. The need to become more than myself. The need to be enough for her.

Out of nowhere the windows crash and I’m pulled out of the door onto the hood of the car. A cold gun is stuck to my throat.

“Get away from my daughter, you sick bastard. I should’ve ended you for what you did to my sister,” Chris Argent threatened.

I could hear Allison screaming and pulling at her father’s arms. “No, dad, NO!! Don’t you get it??! If you kill him, you kill me too!! I won’t be able to look you in the eye any longer if you do this! I-I’ll stay from him, I won’t see him anymore, just please let him live!!,” she begs.

I lay there silently, trying to calm the fuck down. It would be worse if I had wolfed out right then and there. But I wanted to protect her. To console her. To never leave her. To hurt the one hurting her.

Chris stood there frozen, mulling over his daughter’s pleas. “No seeing her. Not one look in the eye. Or else, you’re dead, boy.” With that he walks away.

Allison cries for hours on my lap. It would probably be the last time we could see each other. Well, with her parents’ permission, that is.  
 **END FLASHBACK**

I ran across town, creating a large ruckus as I went. And as I neared her place, I soon blended with the rooftops. No one could track me down visually. I had to run to one place and one place alone: back to her arms.

* * *

**NEAR TACO JOINT, STILES POV ******

The drive to the giver of food was uneventful, full only of genius puns to himself, and millions of tangents borne of lack of sleep. _The twelve tacos were amazing. Fit for myself and my awesomeness,_ he thought. 

Somehow he had an inkling that he forgot to do something. Was it school related? Probably not. Was it his medicine? Pssh, He's already taking too much.

Stiles was driving by Evergreen Road by the outskirts of town, when another tangent hits him hard. _Oh yeah, the old Sour Wolf lives close here. Maybe I should pay him a visi-_  
 _Wait a minute,_ he paused.

_That’s Pacman’s car right there. What’s he doing driving to the cemetery this late at night?_

Stiles decides it's time for an adventure. Good thing he has another burrito left as emergency fuel. And good ol’ Maggie has a full tank of gas. Now Captain Stiles as a full tank of gas too, thanks to the Mexican food. 

 

After Stiles mentally high-fives himself for his not-lame pun, he parks the car behind some trees, a good bit away from his professor's car. He has successfully mastered driving without headlights in a dark forest. His ninja car skills have become legendary, indeed.

Pacman walks to an unmarked tombstone, a highly familiar unmarked tombstone. It must be all the Adderall but he can’t quite remember whose tombstone it is. Will it open to a secret passage? What would the secret password be? “Open sesame?” No, it’s “It’s Morphin’ time.” No, I got it. It’s totally “Stiles is super awesome.”  
Pacman kneels down and starts digging with his bare hands. 

_Totally un-evil villain like,_ Stiles mused. _He should’ve used a giant LAZOR if he wants to drill to the center of the Earth._

 

He pulls a purple-flowered vine from the ground that slowly unwinds. The ground slowly shifts until Pacman finds his prize. (No, it’s not power pellets or various fruits.) Two corpses: Peter and Laura Hale. Pacman pulls out a knife and extracts the two corpses’ livers. He puts it in separate containers, heads to his car and drives off.

Stiles walks over to the grave and examines it closely. The sight of the desecrated bodies sadden him, even in his lack-of-sleep-addled stupor. He prays a silent prayer as he buries the two dead souls again, careful to replace the disturbed wolfsbane. He decides that he has time to inform Derek tonight. Oh, but what a long night it will be. Maybe Derek will let him sleep over for the night. He’ll simply say he’s too tired to drive home. Or, more likely, he’ll make Stiles sleep in his jeep. Good thing he has a pillow and blanket in there. _Good ol’ Maggie will never let me down,_ he reminds himself. And another stray thought follows. Wasn't he supposed to do something else tonight?

* * *

**LATER, AT HALE HOUSE, STILES POV**

Stiles arrives at Derek’s within 10 minutes and calls him out. “Derek! Here, boy!! I have a burrito for joo!!” It takes him a while to notice the sleek black Camaro in the clearing isn't so lonely. A silver Porsche is parked with the motor running. _What is Jackson doing here?,_ he thought.

“Derek! I actually have important news to you!,“ Stiles announced to the night. He was greeted by a loud roar. “Derek?”

Out of nowhere, Jackson was running out the Hale house door, fear in his eyes. This was probably Stiles’ signal to run too. Which he did, gladly. He screamed a little manly scream. But, no one probably noticed. Oh, and he threw the burrito at the Alpha’s face (snout?) to hopefully distract him. Which it did for a second. The poor burrito was chomped down in one gulp. **_Oh well, that’s one less bite off of Stiles’ super awesome body,_** he bartered with fate. **_Maybe there will be enough of my bones left to bury._**

_Bones? Oh yeah!_

 

“ ***Huff*** Derek! ***huff*** ***wheeze*** I know you’re- *** huff*** in there!,” panted Stiles. “I uhh.. ***huffs*** I needed to tell you that ***huff huff*** someone desecrated Peter and Laura’s grave ***huff huff*** and I know who it is! So pleasedon’tkillmeeeEEEEeeeEEEEE!! Yaah!” Derek pounced on Stiles and Jackson on that last part.

Claws razed and sharp on both backs, the lost Alpha bit deep into Jackson, who had passed out from hitting his head on the ground. And did the same for Stiles. He roared “Mine!” into the night. And soon after, his shoulder jerked back, cracking with abandon. His whole body shrunk and shed until he shifted back into his Beta form. Stiles was in pain and in shock from getting bitten. Wide awake, he groaned at his predicament with just one thing going through his mind: _I forgot to save my paper, didn't I?_

* * *

**3rd POV**

For a minute all you could hear was deep breaths. Derek closed his eyes shut, barely any recollection of what happened. He had no control over the instincts. He had just bitten two teenagers. He had no willpower. He had pain. He felt fire underneath his skin. And soon there was this glimmer. Guilt finally arrived.

“Dude! You bit me! Without my permission!,” Stiles finally exclaimed.

Shaken from his stupor, Derek finally lifted his bare self off the two bodies. The voices, the pleas were slowly getting back to him.

With the weight of the older male gone, Stiles dusted himself off and stood to face his attacker. With a vengeance, he starts his rant once again. “God, if I become a werewolf, I wouldn’t know what to do! I mean, Peter offered me the bite and I said no, but come on, you should have at least let me think about it before I joined you! I mean I totally wou-“

That name brings everything back like a slap to his face. Derek slams Stiles into a tree, and demands “You are mine now. You will do as I say. And I ORDER YOU to tell me what happened to Laura and Peter’s grave. Now.”

Stiles receives the mother of all Derek Death Glares. Conceding to the almost life and death situation, he answers: “Ow. Geez. Bleeding from a werewolf bite here, sir, Alpha, sir. Geez. I get the whole pack dynamic thing. I’ve researched enough online. I was coming over to tell you about it anyway. Just put me down, okay?”

Derek lets Stiles go, and starts to drag Jackson’s sorry behind back to the Hale house. Three and a half Stiles rants and tangents later, he gets enough details about the mysterious Literature Professor Dr. Pascal, and has more questions than he can deal with for the night.

Losing control definitely has its consequences.

* * *

**ELSEWHERE IN BEACON HILLS**

Scott rolls into Allison’s open window.  
“How much time do we have?,” he asks.  
“With all the hunters you got mobilized? About a good hour,” Allison says as she jumps on the man of his dreams. They start undressing and making out to their hearts’ content. They writhe with pleasure as they intertwine their bodies in and out of her bed, discovering more and more ways to feel every breath on their skin.

“I can never leave you, do you know that?,” he squeezes in between their hot kisses.  
“I do, I DO, I do, oh god, I do *kiss* and you know that I feel the same?,” she says as she squeezes his firm round ass in time with her kisses.  
“Oh god, yes, I know. I love you, Alli.”  
The making out continues. (And Scott blissfully forgets that Allison forgot to reply those 3 words back.) But maybe, just maybe, actions spoke leagues more than the words.

Time passes by, when suddenly, Scott jumps out of their heaping embrace. “Your dad’s front left tire squeaks a little bit when it turns, right?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?," she answers.  
“Cause we are so dead. He’s at the corner of the street.” Scott grabs his clothes, gives Allison a quick peck on the lips and jumps out of the window onto her roof. When he finds it safe, he sneaks in a small note through the window and runs into the night.

After a quick interrogation from her beloved mother at the threshold of her bedroom, Allison goes to the window and stares into the night. It take her a while to find the folded note and reads it again and again to her heart's content. The flush of her cheeks and the memory of his lips accompany her to her night's sleep. As her eyes flutter, she can imagine his voice reading the note and whispering the words into her ear.  
“I love you, Allison Argent, with all my heart. I will love you until the end of time. Remember me, each time I howl out to the moon.  
-S.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scott is such a sap in this fic. Oh innocence of Season 1 Scott.


	5. dIary jOurnal 43: Family vacatiOn (Matt Arc Chapter 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I saw myself in your eyes once.
> 
> Then it just slipped away  
> When I broke your heart.
> 
> I'll always be with you when you cry." - J.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon messaged me with the right code to continue. Yay readers!
> 
> If you didn't guess it, when I wrote Chap 11 in the descriptions, I meant 11 in Binary. S/he saw the clue for binary and gave me the right pin code to open the next chapter.
> 
> So here's the next blog post. Don't skip ahead if you want to break the code yourself.  
> Maybe do a quick review to catch how he found out the binary hint?

Hi tere everyone!  
Sorry, my laptop’s been cting up on me.  
I have been ery busy lately with all my school stuff. I really wish we had more tim for our summer reak.  
I got to go to Forida for four days. It was trly a relaxing vacation. I went to th most amazing beach and had lenty of time eading the books I wanted to catch up on.

I’ll upload pctures whe I can but up unil then, I’ll just probaly start bragging about the food and sights I saw.  
The very first day I had a chance to attempt to suf with the cusins. It was a bad idea to wear blac swim trunks caus I felt like I was burnig all day. I slpped off the board about nieteen imes. I got this huge bruise to prve it. Me and urfboards do not agre with one another.  
That night, my cousins treated me to an extraagant dinner. It was the most expnsive seafood place on the block. Nostop music accompanied the lobster and shrim dinner plate that tasted lke heavn on earth.

Day two got me raing dirt bikes out on the dunes. Evryone else had these souped up chasis and piss loud egines. I was a sight to behld. What got me excited was the contrast of the older and the neer designs all heir bikes had. Each ride was a wok of art. I could imgine the effort taking care of these mahines.

The adrenaline rush was like no other. My cousin’s bie got me from zero to sxty in a blik of an eye. I had trouble keepin the grip from the ront tires and the sandy dunes. The lack of fricton got me rolling into a faceplant between foty to ixty times tha day. Lucky I was wearing a good helme. All those flls could’ve given me moe concussions than I could count.

After being sore all day, my brother’s brought me to relax at this amazing shiatsu massae plac two blocks from their aparment. It was retty affordable and amzingly relaxing. The maseuse had the fingers of a goddess. I ould barely feel any stress between my shoulders or in my bck after the hour was done.

The best part was probably dinner with my cousin Meinda and her fiancé. I wouldn’t be ble to go theire wedding due to work, but I would make it to the recepion. She gladly understood, ut it still made me guilty. I mean it’s her day, of cours. It should perfect.  
Eh, my trdiness will probably have little to no effet on it. It’s no like I’m the best man, or worse: the photgrapher. Man, I’d be a mess if the best ma was a no show.

We all had a bunc of laughs untl dawn and then I had leave Forida and head back to my old colege dorm room. I had a bunch of laundry waiting for me. That’s what probably sucked the most. Oh well. Another half of a semeter to brunt through. Yay me.

I miss Florida already…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For serious though, I will be busy this week so posts will be more sporadic. See you soon.


	6. CONRAD, JORDAN & THe ORGANIZATION (Matt Arc Chapter 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A scarred sea came before me.  
> And myself came before I.
> 
> A bridge held me together, for I was frail.  
> Soon I disappeared, were all became what was where." - J.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you been reading what J has been leaving for summaries? They become more vague each time. (And harder to write.)

**Central Intelligence Agency, Department 42 – Southern Division  
Location: Specifics Unknown**

“JORDAN, now you’re just busting my ass,” CONRAD ranted to no one in particular. A facepalm is what his son would call it. To himself however, rubbing his face in frustration is never a good thing.

Agent CONRAD, 6 foot 2, tanned Caucasian with medium build, had his desk job at the CIA for an undisclosed number of years. The country music enthusiast had a fine tuned skill with codes- both computer and secret message codes. He has two flaws though: he overcomplicates things; and he hates, no, ABHORS spelling errors.

CONRAD was assigned to an undercover case roughly 9 years ago: an enemy agent, to be code named TROJAN, was recruited by an underground elitist group with level 6 threat priority. (On a scale of 5, that’s pretty intense.) Intelligence showed that the enemy agent had promise as a soldier, as a warrior. And somehow, this unlucky bastard was caught in the government agency's spotlights.

* * *

**FLASHBACK**

_“So the mission is to terminate this enemy agent?,” CONRAD asked his superior._

_“No. You’re task, agent, is to help him.”_

_“WHAT?!,” he outbursts. Helping an enemy agent at this magnitude, if word gets out in the wrong way, could be seen as treason._

_“Although his future education and training poses a worldwide risk, his psychological profile hints on another possibility.”_

_“And what possibility is that? Complete psychosis?! Cause, this is what this mission is starting to sound like!”_

_The commander just glares at Agent CONRAD. “Is that insubordination I hear, agent?”_

_Caught off guard, CONRAD had to check himself and calm down. ***cough*** “No, sir.” _

_“Good. Befriend and mentor him, CONRAD. We’ll see what happens in a few years. As for his psychological profile, and his background information… Well, we’ll see over the next few weeks if you are qualified to handle this mission before anything else is divulged. Any small slip-ups, agent, and it's back to small town police shifts for you. And if any mistakes get bigger, well let’s just say Guantanamo Bay will have a special cell with your name on it.”_

* * *

After 9 years of dealing with this kid, CONRAD pretty much was set. A steady pay, 2-4 weeks of vacation days, first pick on the mission rosters, a bunch of consulting for codebreakers here and there, plus his own little unmarked star in the “CIA Hall-of-Fame.” Crisis averted, due to an overgrown baby-sitting job.

Well... now it wasn’t so easy. His mark enacted Operation FIREBIRD: “Destroy an enemy organization’s top operatives. No backup necessary.” Normally, these missions were near impossible and borderline suicidal; especially with organizations normally having two to four bosses leading separate divisions in separate undisclosed locations. FIREBIRD's have no time frame indications or parameters. Oftentimes, it could fall to one or two main base infiltrations; maybe a missile or well placed bomb and the deed is done.

But, this group was completely different. Although it has gone over 100 names, “The Organization” had its sight on two goals: "World Domination, or World Destruction, whichever comes first." Latest intel showed The Organization had up to what could be 11 leaders, or 11 divisions. They’ve lasted for years and no one knew why… Up until TROJAN switched sides on them.

The 11 leaders held high positions in various research and crime initiatives. Each one had their own code name and specialty, from computers, to stealth, to imaginative ways of killing people. What they had in common is three things:

 **1.** All their code names are six letters long, often alluding to their specialty or division.

 **2.** They are skilled killers. There are even numerous rumors of the leaders having superhuman abilities.

 **3.** If ever someone is killed, a protégé is often in line for the surviving leaders to train in order to fill the gap. This training period may last between 3 months to a year.

The last one’s the problem. Cut a head off, it grows back meaner than ever. So TROJAN, or JORDAN as he’d like to be coded now, has a deadline. (And a death wish, apparently.) No backup from us. No strings, no spotlights. This task was impossible, even for him. Well fortunately, I could probably weaken the security on our own databases to make it easier for him to gather information. He won’t need to know that. Or the fact that I’m still funneling funds to his 3 offshore bank accounts. He’ll get the help that he needs, one way or another. The most crucial thing needed for that to work is communication.

Which brings us back to his blog update:  
“A seemingly normal blog post about a fake Florida trip," CONRAD starts to muse. "Usage of the number 43, may or may not be important. No Caesar ciphers or string of numbers to require a Public Key or elliptical curve decryption. No morse code, either. He’s obviously trying to dumb it down, especially with the first blog’s being just stupid parsing of paragraphs. But what could it be?” CONRAD takes another sip of coffee and goes through his files. Eleven leaders, some of which are master hackers and coders. So it wouldn’t be machine level either. Or using noise through the line.

“I just wish he’d goddamn type better! All this bad spelling is just busting my ass! I know I can’t spell for my damn life, but he doesn’t have to rub it in! I mean, come on! Any spell check would just-” 

And then he saw it.

A pad of paper, and scribbling words like crazy, he started to decipher the code.

""There" was spelled "tere," missing an 'h'. "Acting" was missing an 'a'," he mumbles.

A few minutes later he got JORDAN's message:  
"HAVE BLUEPRINT BROKEN INTO SEVEN PIECES NOW TRACKING FIRST TARGET PASCAL AT BEACON HILLS"

Punctuation marks. Where are they when you need them? And where's this Beacon Hills?  
"HAVE BLUEPRINT BROKEN INTO SEVEN PIECES. NOW TRACKING FIRST TARGET: PASCAL AT BEACON HILLS"

"Huh. PASCAL. What the hell kind of code name is that?" CONRAD does a quick Google search, packs his office bag and heads home. It looks like he's headed for California.

* * *

**JORDAN POV**

I've been driving for days, swapping cars every state or two. I had to pass through the Northern states to avoid Organization checkpoints. It's a difficult and winding trek, but I'm almost under the radar so The Organization won't be looking for me using all their resources. But with ALFRED on the other hand, well, it reminds me more of how it sucks to be a turkey during Thanksgiving.

Around 9 years ago, I was abducted and forced into working for this secret Organization. Every day was train, or die. Kill or be killed. Every waking moment we were psychologically battered until it seemed like inflicting pain or death would be the sweetest release of all. For one reason or another, I grew faster than the other recruits. I adapted quicker, learned faster, set and reset academy records. I was a sponge to every topic, every maneuver, every code and order shoved down my throat. Soon, the next-in-line to lead the Organization took notice of me and wanted to train me as a protege- the next-next-in-line. I acted like it was a huge honor. I had to. 

He was a nobody then, without even a code name.

Barely two weeks later, he staged a strategic coup and seized power: 2 years before he was scheduled to take the reins. The previous leader was publicly executed. This act lead to a big shuffling of books, and a restructuring of departments. My then mentor took the code name ALFRED and immediately sent me to reconnaissance missions. I solely scouted and infiltrated British and American military outposts, and gathered formulas and blueprints. I was a chameleon that was let in with ease, and left devastating blows at every exit. Soon, ALFRED officiated my new code name: TROJAN. 

A month in his rule, ALFRED set up a huge plan that he disclosed to no one but the department heads. The blueprints were genetically coded- only the ID and DNA from one of the heads will open them up. "I'll inform you of the plans only when needed, TROJAN. Until then, just keep running my little marathon until your heart gives out," he snipes at me.

The blueprints have a timeline, that's all I can decipher from it then. But, I just followed commands. No one else knew I hated this job. I acted like I reveled in it. (Maybe a part of me even did. All that bloodshed could not have left me psychologically intact.) I kept looking for an out. And soon, I got the chance.

It was my 17th mission for ALFRED, a simple dropping of a bug. Well, it was dropping a bug into the 14th level of the Pentagon, so it wasn't that easy. It was priority ALPHA that I escape unfound and post-haste. I was walking down the second to last hallway before my insertion point, all camera's down in that hallway. My dead spot for security only lasted 20 seconds. What I did not expect was that the lock was changed from mechanical to computerized barely 24 hours before my insertion. No intel, no ins, just dry hacking.  
13.  
14.  
15.  
No luck.  
I was working my best to get through.  
17.  
18.  
19.

I had to abort or get caught. I straightened up and walked casually in the other direction. Faint footsteps were heard two corridors down. It was my first failed mission and I was scared of the consequences.

Barely two steps away, I heard the door click. I turned around to see a green light on the door. Without hesitation, I duck in and take my chance. Through the door, I made the drop, and was on my way to leave. But before I could get away, curiosity took over. Who helped me?

I signed into the lock once more and searched the code. Fragments were almost gone of the off-site hack. Twelve minutes left until my extraction, I got an IP address and a code name: CONRAD.

Some encrypted messages later, I took a huge gamble and booked The Organization, taking the blueprints with me. I sabotaged all I can so they couldn't easily follow. I sought a new life away from it all. I kept the blueprints, maybe for some sense of morality, or perhaps a lifeline in case ends become tight. This encryption, however, is starting to get to me.

I need a good 48 hours with a supercomputer, and a code ID from one of the Organization heads, to get access to more information. I need a lab to get more details, but that sets me down in one place for far too long a time that would keep me comfortable.

The good news is: it seems like as long as I can burn seven months and keep it safe, the world gets a little safer. Whatever event happens in 7 months is key.  
The bad news: whichever Organization Head is in charge of Research and Development might be working back up from scratch to remake the blueprints. 

But you know, after the deadline's gone, ALFRED will just keep on looking for me until I'm dead. My New Orleans cover lasted a good 2.5 semesters, and the university supercomputer was too slow for my needs (stupid budget cuts). 

So two weeks ago, I decided I'm tired of this cat-and-mouse game. I want a home and a (somewhat) normal life.

ALFRED will never have believed my fake blog. But once I discovered that one line of code tracing my GPS location, I had to vamoose. I attached a decoy cellphone to someone's car, headed to Florida (I think), and upped the energy capacity on the phone. Twenty minutes later, I altered the phone so that I can access the phone and fake blog updates from a 20 mile-radius of my mini-cell site. In a moment of inspiration, I made 12 more of these (while working on my homework for math class), and I'll attach them to more cars along the way to California. Thirteen seemed to be my lucky number. Might as well stick to it.

That leaves me to my mission: Hide and decipher the EOTW (End of the World) blueprints. Stop R&D (Research and Development) from recreating the blueprints. Kill the higher-ups of The Organization once and for all.

So I need information.

The obvious and tedious choice would be hacking the over 100 central HUBS that they use. Half of them switch back and forth and use mixed RSA and Elliptical Curve encryption (hate the latter with a passion). The other half, are bogey sites that they have the same equipment but no information. Every month, they also switch a number of bogey sites with real sites with a giant transfer of data, overseen by the Organization Head in charge of that department. The drones that work at each station continue typing until their fingers bleed processing random data, not knowing if their piece of information is vital to the Organization at all. This double-blind data archive will take too much time and data to decipher one-by-one.

Luckily, before I left the organization, I made sure I learned one important piece of information: the code name of the leader in charge of database security, as well as online terrorism. And he is PASCAL. Well, I think he's a he. Programming is not a very feminine field. But, I could be wrong.  
PASCAL was in Beacon Hills for another unknown side project. With his termination, communication between departments will be hindered. I can gain access to the information on other department heads. And most urgently, I can finally get closer to cracking the blueprints I smuggled out.

Pascal is a programming language. That much is obvious. How can you kill with programming? He's probably half-robot. With lasers. I don't have anything that can last against lasers. Every computer needs a power source though. Ha. There's my plan.

1\. Need to destroy The Organization.  
2\. To do that, I need information.  
3\. To get that, I need to meet PASCAL.  
4\. To survive meeting PASCAL, I need to kill him.  
5\. How to kill a robot? Cut off a power source.  
6\. What kills robots? Usually EMP charges. Or magnetics.  
7\. I need EMP charges and magnetic guns.

This is gonna be a weird battle. I've never fought robots before.

Oh look, California. Whoop-de-doo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robots?!?! Nobody never said no nothing 'bout no robots?!?! :-p


	7. clOck stRikes Ten (Matt Arc Chapter 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I could never have enough, and I was never alone in that.
> 
> Scholars searched for it  
> Fools abused it  
> No heart can hold it, the wise would pledge  
> No cliff, no shelf, no..." - J.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kids and robots always make happy. I hope the interlude of this chapter is cute enough for you!

**XX/19/20XX  
SOMEWHERE IN CALIFORNIA  
JORDAN POV**

It’s time for another monologue.

It's me again, JORDAN. My real name is irrelevant and could get you killed. I can be any height from 6’ to 6’4” if I wanted to be. I can get in anywhere and anytime, with the proper tools and a proper price. And, I think, maybe I am one of the good guys.  
I don’t know anymore to be honest. I lie, cheat and steal just to live a normal life. 

My mission right now, is to hunt the 11 heads of The Organization: a crime syndicate hell bent on “World Domination or World Destruction, Whichever Comes First.” They used to be my bosses, molded me into what I’ve become: untouchable, separate from the world. I was next in line to lead them all; I was to replace ALFRED.

But enough of a jaded past, I got to focus on the present. I needed intel fast and, luckily, I know where I can get it:  
 **Code Name: PASCAL  
Security ID: 42564182   
Gender: Unknown  
Sector: Online Terrorism, Data Acquisition and Organization Librarian  
Location: Beacon Hills, California, for reasons unknown **

The thing about PASCAL is his (or her) affinity for technology. Best case scenario: geek with a stun gun, (highly unlikely.) Worst case scenario: robot body or armor suit. And for that: I’d need to learn about EMP’s and electromagnetism…

It’s actually pretty cold outside here in this city, pretty close to Sacramento, California. I’m at a Starbucks doing some research, on a detour to the University of California in Davis. It’s the best equipped school that is not too far away from Beacon Hills. Now, the problem is getting in without a hassle.

“Oh, look. A grad school open house tomorrow. How convenient,” I said to no one in particular. Ten minutes later, I squeeze in a fake transcript and acceptance documents into their database and I’m on the tour. (Wow, I’m rusty. That would usually take me five minutes, while drunk. Either that, or security has upgraded over the past 3 years.)

I stretch back and I stare at a park across the street. Two kids are playing around with a soccer ball, laughing up a storm, when one of them trips.

“You cheated! I had it first!,” said the fallen boy.

“No! It’s my ball now!,” the other boy replies.

“I’ll tell my brother on you! He’s a superhero! He’ll save me!”

I nearly choked on my pastry, as I grabbed my head and groaned in pain.

A brother…  
…

I think I had a brother…

* * *

**TEN YEARS AGO  
BEACON HILLS – POLICE OFFICE  
3RD POV**

A little spindly boy was playing with his little robot toy in the corner, making sounds of laser and explosions to himself. He just couldn’t sit still. It wasn’t his fault- the full moon was almost out tonight and his daddy said that the full moon brings out the crazies and the “lunatics.” He didn’t know what the second word meant, but his daddy’s face looked tired when he said that. His daddy has been awfully tired lately.

The little boy stood up and walked over to a nice police lady.   
“Excuse me, miss police lady person. Umm, is there a snack machine here? My robot wants some animal crackers and some juice,” he said.

“Yes, we do have a snack machine, but for animal crackers? Hmm, I think all we have in that machine is grown up food,” she paused, looking him over. “Aren’t you Will’s little boy?”

“Yes, ma’am! But, I’m not little. I’m a big boy!” he replies, with a giggle and a fake salute.

“You’re so cute,” she says, ruffling his hair. “How about I make you a deal? I have…“ She opens her drawer and pulls out a brown paper bag. “I have a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich, a couple of apple slices, and some goldfish crackers in here. The sandwich doesn’t have the crust cut off though, but you’re big enough to have the crust, right? You can have all this if you can bring these to your father and make sure he reads and signs all these papers. Is that okay?”

“Did you use creamy peanut butter or the one with the nuts in them?” he asks, slightly bouncing up and down. “I love the one with the nuts in them because my mommy says I can have them now that I’m a big boy.”

“Well, what do you know? It must be your lucky day then, because this sandwich happens to have nuts. But, are you sure you can handle all these papers? This is a very important mission. The fate of the whole town is at stake!”

“Ooooh. Yes, I will guard it with my robot! Nothing can get past my super duper mega laser attack!”

“Good, here are the papers, stapled together and numbered up top, okay? One through 10. All of them need your daddy’s full attention and his signature. When you come back, I’ll have your snacks and some juice for your robot, too.”

The little boy grabs all the papers and they barely fit in his arms. He walks as fast and as safe as he could to his daddy’s office. Lo and behold, as he turns a corner, he trips over a slacked-jaw boy huddled into a ball, sobbing in the corner. All the papers fly everywhere. The robot slid out of sight.

The big boy groaned and started to pick up the papers, trying to arrange them in order, in a hurry to have them signed. I mean, the fate of the whole town is at stake! He got them all from 1 through 10. As he was about to leave, the ball boy tapped him on the shoulder. His eyes were still puffy and red.

“I’m sorry I tripped you. I have been a big baby all night and I make things go wrong,” he said, suddenly finding his shoes more interesting. 

“It’s okay. I didn’t get hurt. But, I have to hurry and do something for my dad. How about we play after I’m done?” 

“Sure. I found your robot for you,” he said, handing the questing boy his favorite toy. “It slid under the couch but I sniffed him out for you.” 

“Thank you! I’ll be back soon, okay?”

The little boy just curls back into his little ball in the little corner of the big, scary police station.

It was then, that the big boy noticed that there were a lot of little boys in the police station today. 

There were two boys getting scolded for getting in trouble. One of them was clearly the mastermind, and the other quieter one was dragged into it. He could tell because the first one was smiling like a bad guy, and the other was about to cry.

One boy was in one chair, covered in towels and shivering. He didn’t know why he was wet. The wet boy had lines of water down his face, too. He didn’t know which ones were tears, and which ones were from water from his hair.

The last boy he saw on the way to his daddy’s office was a quiet boy in the corner. He looked sad and tired but that did not stop him playing with his hands. He was making explosions and laser sounds too. And after one big explosion, for a small moment, he thinks he saw him smile. And, it was the most hurt smile that he ever saw.

The big boy arrived at his daddy’s door and knocked. A groan and a few footsteps later, a man in uniform opened the door.

“Hihihihihi, good morning, daddy.” 

“Morning? It’s late at night, Champ.”

“But you fell asleep at work again, didn’t you?”

“What? No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. You fell asleep on a post-it note and it’s on your cheek.”

The sheriff groaned and took it off his face. “I guess I need more coffee before this shift is over. And…“ He reads the post-it note. “I need to remember to buy groceries when we head home. So, Champ, why did you wake me up from my surprise nap? Is your mom here to pick you up?”

“No,” the boy replies. He then explains his very important mission to the sheriff, as he looks over the paperwork.  
“So, the evil alien doctor got rid of all the juice from your robot, and now it can’t move? And, in the middle of the big fight, too? So, how are the reinforcements gonna arrive?”

“The _re-_ , the _regan-_ , the _re-fahs-me-_ , ***coughs*** the help is gonna come through a hole in space, Dad. Don’t you know anything? The help is gonna come on their huge spaceships that look like apple slices and they are gonna shoot peanut butter torpedoes and grape jelly lasers! The battle is going to be amazing! But we need the juice to get the robot first because the robot is thirsty," the boy explains, arms flailing and jumping with emphasis.

The sheriff chuckles at his boy’s fumble with the word reinforcement, as well as his son’s healthy imagination. He should remember to bring more kiddie snacks to work more often.

The boys run to his office window and peeks through the blinds. “Daddy? You’re the sheriff, right? And you have lotsa _respah-, responsibi-cities_?”

The sheriff makes a sound of agreement.

“How about little boys and big boys? What are our _respo-sibi-es_?”

“Responsibilities, Champ,” the sheriff corrects reassuringly. “Well, little boys and big boys just have to eat well, sleep on time, go to school, listen to their parents, be good, and play a lot with other kids, and for some, their brothers and sisters. But probably, the most important thing is to be good, and to be happy.”

“Happy, huh?” The boy mulls this over. A while later he replies, “Daddy? Do I have a special re-, responsibility because I’m the sheriff’s son?”

It takes a while for the sheriff to reply. “Champ, all that you have to do is to be a good boy, just like everyone else. You don’t have to do anything special. Remember: anyone can save the world. Even little boys.”

_Silence._ The sheriff noticed that maybe his answer wasn’t enough. “Oh, and big boys too. They save the world all the time.” The boy replies with a big smile. “Well, Champ, you can make sure other boys are doing their responsibilities too. But, you can’t arrest anybody. Only the police can do that,” he adds.

A few scratches of paper later, he gives the boy the papers. “Champ, can you give this back to Ginny? And tell her that I said thanks for everything. She’ll know what it means.”

“Okay, Dad. And don’t fall asleep again, hihihihi.”

The boy runs to complete the mission and to get his snacks. He asks Ginny if he could do his own special mission and if he can get more snacks from her. After he explains, Ginny agrees and promises to meet the big boy at the break room.

The boy runs and grabs the quiet kid with the explode-y hands and says, “Follow me, quick!” They run and pick up the crying-ball-kid, the wet-kid, and the kids in trouble (while they wait for their parents), on their way to the break room. They are greeted by Ginny, with a peanut butter jelly sandwich cut in 8, a few apple slices, some goldfish crackers, some chips and some soda (that they are not supposed to have, _shhh_ ). 

The big boy says, “You’re proba-bab-ly wondering why I brought you here tonight. An evil alien space doctor is trying to take over the world and my robot and I need reinforcements. You are the bestest of the best that this police station has. The commander of the mission is here to tell you about our mission.” 

“Thank you, Space Hero,” Ginny replies. ”I’m Space Commander Ginny and I hereby recruit you as honorary Space Heroes. The evil alien space doctor has been stealing candy from everywhere in the galaxy. Our counter-intelligence has learned that his only weakness is fun! So, to beat him we need you, our special force of 6, to have snacks and play charades!”

The boys smile and giggle at the silly adult. But with the word “play” and “snacks,” they were hooked.

The big boy then introduces himself. ”I want to go first. You’ll never get what my word is. It’s my favorite thing in the whole world! Oh, my name is Derek. My daddy is the sheriff.”

The boy who was crying replied, “Hi, Derek. I’m sorry about earlier. My name is Scott.”

The bad boy with the master plan jumped up and down all excited. “Ooh, ooh! I’m Jackson! And this is my best friend, Danny,” he points to the quiet kid beside him.

The wet boy had a half-forced, half-genuine smile. “I’m Matt.”

They all look to the quiet kid who was sticking to the corner of the room and was kind of shy. As quiet as possible, he said. “Umm, you can call me Stiles. And if I had to guess, your word is robot.”

With that, the clock in the police station struck ten. And just for today, instead for “Time for bed” it was “Time for play.”

* * *

**BACK TO THE PRESENT  
NEAR THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA – DAVIS   
RANDOM PUB**

The graduate admissions tour just ended, and Jordan finagled his way to all the professor’s good sides. If he was REALLY applying there for graduate school, he was going to be a shoe-in. I mean, come on, he was able to get two professors to hang out with him after the tour for some drinks.

An hour into their drinking escapades, Jordan has Dr. Stein, professor for Electromagnetism 101, and Dr. Cooper, professor for Waves and Optics, all open for discussion.  
Jordan acts as drunk as possible and slurs, “All I’m saying, professors, ***hic*** is that you don’t have to be drunk to imagine that the pseudo-science in games and TV shows are possible. I mean, come on, EMP shockwaves? Totally realistic, am I right?,” he asks, raising his eyebrow.

Cooper and Stein burst out laughing. “Looks like someone’s catching onto you, Bill,” said the former. “Picture this, okay? We were having our laughs watching TBBT in the magnetism lab, while working on our new 1.5 mil-machine that can get to 1.4 milliKelvin. Talk about coldhearted research, am I right? Anyway, I was setting up a super magnet along with the cold machine to repeat Millikan’s oil drop experiment, but in a vacuum at a temperature as close to absolute zero as we could afford.”

For realism, Jordan adds in “to lessen friction from surrounding gases, and to minimize heat displacement?”

“Nah, for shits and giggles,” Bill replies, as he downs another beer. “Big boy Sheldon here, then forgot to recalibrate the circuit boards in preparation for both high tech machines to be on the same line. So, as the brilliant Sheldon Cooper starts the experiment, a resistor bursts and the super magnet surges with ten times the energy it was supposed to have.”

“What happens next was the hilarious science-y part," Dr Sheldon Cooper interrupts. "The wires in the cooling machine experienced such a strong current, it would normally have caught fire. But, in the absence of oxygen to burn, and with the temperature as low as it is, the loop collapsed itself coaxially, forming a four loop flower instead of a single circular loop,“ he describes.

Dr. Bill Stein then explains the rest. “Now in that split second, our smart phones, our little television, 3 centrifuges, a couple of wire sockets and the room’s air-conditioning sparked and fizzled out. It didn’t catch flame or burn like a power overload, but the electricity was sucked out of it.”

“We spent the next 3 weeks trying to fix everything before the department noticed the damage,” Cooper grimaces.

“Did everything in the building fry? I mean, not fry?,” Jordan asks.

“Well, no. No, it didn’t. What we accidentally made was the smallest contained Electromagnetic vacuum, an almost impossibility according to Einstein’s E=mc-squared. All conductivity was removed from all the conducting wires in the room, a radius of say 10 feet. When we had the funding to spare the next month, we tried to molecularly examine what happen to the wires, but as soon as we tried, the conductivity returned.”  
"  
“You know, the argument of "the observer changing the whole property of the material." All of our tests with the current, to observe it microscopically seem to recharge its conductivity,” Bill interjects.

“So, Bill and I did what other physicists do: ask why and theorize like hell. We still don’t know why it happens, but we have replicated the EM vacuum phenomenon lots of times. It took a while to get there though,” Sheldon adds.

“Yeah, it did. Remember when we tried to fix everything? We replaced all the resistive wires in the room, including the flower loop wire in the supermagnet. But, when we supercharged the magnet the second time, nothing happened. It took three undocumented attempts until we noticed the wire in the cooling unit was unchanged. The current just flowed but it did not change the wire.” 

“It didn’t help that the loop is as small as your thumbnail. So a flower loop was an almost indistinguishable difference to a single loop. What we learned, was that the first wire was doped with platinum, instead of our regular carbon coated wire. We doped another set with platinum, setup the parameters, and viola, successful replication of the EM vacuum phenomena. The platinum in a four flower loop allowed for the electromagnetic waves to create either dissonant or amplified electromagnetic fields, causing the vacuum. At least, that is the theory our current experiments are working on. Once we clamp down the calculations, our papers are gonna hit the journals like wildfire. Patents and tenure for years to come!,” Sheldon exclaimed.

"Cheers to that!," Dr Stein agreed, downing another pint.

“So, let me summarize this: small four looped wire, doped with platinum; size of a thumbnail; almost absolute zero degrees; with an induced current from a super magnet receiving around ten times its recommended energy capacity. Any ideas on how to make this phenomenon more accessible?,” Jordan pries.

“Well, we assume the maximum temperature necessary for the phenomenon is maybe negative 50 degrees Celsius. But, it hasn’t been tested yet. It’s just a random number we threw out there that almost seems mathematically sound.”

And with that, the clock strikes ten for the third time that night. “Jeez, midnight already? We got to go and get some sleep. We still have half the tour tomorrow. If you do decide to apply here, Bill and I will take you in our labs in a heartbeat.”

“Thanks, professors. I’ll keep that in mind. I think I definitely got what I needed from the tour today.”

As the professors pack up the booze, they don’t notice Jordan pocketing one of their lab keys. He breaks into the science building and helps himself to some wires and tools from the lab. It’s officially the 21st of the month. He has 25 days left to stop phase 1 of ALFRED’s master plan. Time to head for Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a Thermodynamics in college, and had a professor with a supercooling machine too. It was amazing that we could reach 14 milliKelvin at that school. I know EMPs can work a couple of ways but this is the one I decided for this story. Artistic license and all that. I tried to keep it as close to theory as possible.
> 
> Next chapter (posted next week. busy weekend, sorry) will be back in Beacon Hills. Matt Arc is almost a third done. Aca-believe it.


	8. Deluge of Death and smOke (Matt Arc Chapter 6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can move mountains  
> Oceans are nothing but puddles.  
> Armies wage war over me.
> 
> It's actually pretty stupid, what people will do just for a glimpse of the truth.” - J.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This chapter was at over 10,000 words, so I had to chop it up to two smaller chapters. I figured an evil cliffhanger would suffice. The next chapter should be up soon. The break in writing was because first day of uni started.
> 
> I left school 2 years ago. I was a little rusty. Trying to go back also has some psychological feedback- not a good writing space. 
> 
> I want to point out that this comment DOES NOT have any clues so don't overanalyze this one.
> 
> Also, I didn’t want to use “BANG” as the sound of a gunshot. I thought “BLAM” would suffice for the lead bullets, and “THWIP” for the tranq darts. Hope it won’t bother anyone. **End of Notes**

**THAT SAME EVENING, BEACON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT**

 

The scene opens with Matt Daehler pointing a gun at Scott McCall. The latter was rummaging through files, on the orders of the former. Evidence of Matt's connection to the recent murders had to be expunged. And in this building, where Matt met 5 other boys ten years ago, he swallows the bile that threatens to vomit out, as he fights back memories of his life since then.

* * *

_**BUM bum.** _  
_**BUM bum. Swish swish swish.** _  
_**BUM bum.** _

_I hear a pounding in my head. It’s getting louder every day._

_**BUM bum.  
BUM bum.** _

_It’s like a loud beat of my heart, but it’s not mine.  
The beating rises above the mediocre cries of my arteries and veins, or the voices of these meat puppets on a string. _

_**BUM bum.** _

_It craves blood, but not within my heart, my flesh._  
 ** _WAR. DEATH. REVENGE. RETRIBUTION._**  
 _Rage needs to be fed, fueled, fanned feverishly until the burnt blood boils over the beating drums of war._  
 _I drowned once, twice, to this day. But, I have been drowning in agony ever since._

_Because it is my fault._

_“ **It’s YOUR fault** ,” his voice resounds._

_It is my fault._

_“ **What little bastard doesn’t know how to swim?!** ”  
It’s my fault._

_I tell no one what happened that night._  
 _I’d remember it clearly- the lights, the bodies, the gasping for air that wasn’t there. And I’d wake up trying to catch my breath._  
 _My parents thought I was asthmatic. They even bought me a fucking inhaler._

_**BUM bum.  
BUM bum. Glub glub glub.** _

_As I was dying, I saw nothing that night- no light at the end of the tunnel. Just darkness. And the resounding “Why? Why me?” racing through my head._

* * *

“This is taking too long. Change of plans. I'll just burn the room down. But before I kill you, give me the bestiary, McCall,” Matt said, pointing the gun to Scott’s face. _Time is running out_ , he thinks. _The scales are growing. Why can’t they just leave me alone?_

“You don’t need to do this, Matt,” Scott reasons.

“It’s kind of late for that now, isn’t it, McCall?,” Matt scoffs. “I have BLOOD on my hands. There are witnesses present. Not to mention, there’s still one more person on my list.”

“One more?”

“That’s right. Jackson Whittemore. I have to make it look like he did all of this. I need a scapegoat.”

“No more murders, Matt. We can still get you out of this,” Scott reasons once more.

“Ha! Are you the crazy one? I need an exit plan. And unfortunately, everyone here is the bus fare.”

“No, Matt. NO. We can get all of us out of here alive and safe.”

“Oh please. I drop this gun and you kill me. Or they arrest me. There is no other choi-“

“THERE IS ALWAYS A CHOICE, MATT!,” Scott screams, tears in his eyes.

Matt is shocked.

Scott drops to a whisper. “I remember that night ten years ago, you know… Stiles does too…That’s the night we met and became best friends… You were there, too… Don’t you remember?”

“We were playing charades with a bunch of other kids,” Scott continues. “Everyone was sad but we tried to be happy and strong for one another… You all inspired me to cry less, to man up... You taught me that more than my father did-- and he left my mom battered and bruised that night…” 

Scott inches closer, hands up and throat dry.  
“We were family that night.. And I am not gonna let you get hurt, or be separated from the rest of us…  
….. ju-just.. give me the gun, Matt..”

Matt holds back tears. _How stupid is this idiot? I SHOT HIM. And, that night was years ago. It's too far away._ “NO,” Matt replies, jaw clenched. One of his hands grasp his hair. A searing headache is pushing through. “Not until you tell how you think you can get me out of here safely, and free of this scaly issue.” Matt lifts his shirt to show a smattering of scales forming around his abdomen.

And as Scott was about to open to reply, the lights go out in the station. A window crashes open and a small canister rolls in- it was a smoke grenade.

* * *

**EARLIER THAT NIGHT, THE ARGENT HOUSEHOLD**

The past two days have not been good to Chris and Allison. The two just lost Victoria Argent, for reasons still unknown to them. Added to that, the uninvited patriarch Gerard has twisted Allison's pain to hate. This anger is bringing Allison down a dark road of retribution. Shoot first, ask never. It seems like all the creatures of the night are monsters in her eyes now.

They have just learned that the scaly creature causing the murders over the past few weeks has been sighted at the police station. Their wire into the traffic cameras also show that Derek Hale is also headed in that direction. This leads to the mission briefing. And despite all the pain he's harboring, Chris Argent holds onto a code he swore his life by. He raises a question that disrupts their train of thought:

“What if any betas get in the way?,” Chris asks tentatively.

“Kill them,” Allison orders, after barely a second of hesitation. “Kill them all.”

Chris is angry, for multiple reasons. His wife is dead, for God knows what reason. His authority is being undermined by Gerard, whom is starting to become more of a monster than what goes bump in the night. And his daughter, the one he prepared for the worst but hoped for the best—she’s changing. And, tonight might be one of those nights where she’ll end up doing something she regrets. 

And his Dad -no- Gerard is just egging her on. Look at that smile on his smug face, he thinks. Chris just has be there to back up her daughter, and nothing else. Duty calls him to the purpose of defending the night. However, Fate calls him to a higher purpose- protecting his family from itself.

And just as that thought crosses his mind, Gerard falls into a fit of hacking cough. 

***COUGH coughcough cough COUGH coughcoughcough***

“Allison, dear…,” Gerard starts. “Could you get me a glass of water upstairs? I need my medicine.”

She complies, without a word. And as soon as she’s left earshot, Gerard grabs command of the room. “Listen to me quick. Listen to me loud and clear. Despite her orders, I am in charge here. And this mission is going to be a purge. No survivors. No witnesses. No mistakes. There is something in that station that is beyond the bastard wolves we normally face. And we have little to no clue which of the occupants are infected. So I repeat- NO SURVIVORS.” He pulls out an incendiary device packed full with trinitrotoluene- a bomb strong enough to decimate a block and a half.

“You can’t do that.,” Chris speaks up. “That is the town’s police station. There are honest law enforcers in that building and-“

“And they are an honest pain in my ass,” Gerard interrupts. “They get in the way of our mission so they must be eliminated. With them gone, we will hardly need to skirt around light footed at night. This is a win-win, boys. Don’t you doubt it one bit.” He puts away the device in a case and hands it to a pawn to his side.

Allison walks in just at that moment. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, dear. I’m just going over the schematics and the team ups with them one more time before we leave,” Gerard lies.

“Good. I expect everything packed and ready in 15,” Allison orders.

“Fifteen? That’s hardly enough time,” one of the grunts reply.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Allison replies. “For that, make it 10. I’m in charge, people. And, this is war.”

* * *

**BACK AT THE PRECINCT**

Matt stares daggers at Scott. “YOU! You planned all this?! You had me monologue-ing until your little backup arrived!”

“NO! No, Matt! I didn’t know about this!,” Scott reacts. “I’m on your side! It must be the hunters!”  
Bullets rain through the windows and they both duck for cover.

“Hunters? What has that got to do with anything?!,” Matt screams.

“These hunters don’t hunt animals, Matt. They hunt inhumans. If they catch you, and see your scales, they’ll kill you without hesitation,” Scott explains.  
Matt looked scared for the first time that night.

“We have got to get out of here, Matt,” Scott pleads. “Please, we have to go. This is nothing worth fighting and dying for.”

“No! I’ll just sick Jackson at them.”

“Jackson can’t handle all of them at once! You can’t do that!,” Scott replies.  
They see another canister roll in- tear gas this time. 

Matt just looks at Scott. “Watch me.” He pushes Scott out of the way and runs for cover, headed to the back of the station.

* * *

The tear gas fills the room and blocks Scott's view of Matt. Time is running out quick. Scott runs out of the room and voices start to overwhelm him. 

His mom is screaming and sobbing down the hallway. “What was that crash? Scott! SCOTT!! Tell me you’re okay! John, please, you have to get me out of here. SCOTT!! Baby, please!! John, open this damn gate!!”

Matt is somewhere else, crashing open doors- trying to get out of the police station.

He focuses for more heartbeats. Soon he hears Stiles, who sounds like he’s dragging himself across a corridor.  
And Derek—he sounds like he's fighting Jackson somewhere close.

Meanwhile, outside he hears faint beeping and the sound of Gerard’s voice: “Set the timers to 15 minutes. Go in, salvage what data and ammo you can get your hands on and get out. Kill any witnesses.”

Scott's vision and hearing tunneled. 15 minutes? There may be police officers that had a chance to survive! The building is obviously surrounded. How are they gonna get out of here?!

As that thought crossed his mind, as if Fate didn’t hate him already, 3 hunters show up at the end of the hallway he was in. “A witness! Get him!,” one of them shouted.

Scott ducks for cover in another room as shots are fired in his direction. He overhears one of them say, “You IDIOT! Shoot first! If you yell, it gives them a chance to run away!”

The wolf pup looks around a room and groans. He jumped into a file room. The only exit is through the door he entered. He could go through the ventilation shafts (like all the people in movies do) but that would slow him down and take time—a luxury he doesn’t have. He needed to free his mom and the Sheriff before the hunters find them.

A split second later, he decides he’ll just run through the hallway, hoping his supernatural speed will save him. He shifts and hopes for a miracle. What he didn’t know that his prayer was about to be answered.

* * *

**OUTSIDE THE STATION  
JORDAN/”TROY” POV**

Jordan arrives a block away. He checks his ammo (6 ‘tranq’ shots, and 14 lead alloy) and his utility knife and runs on. He can't have his vehicle near the scene of any crime.  
He stops right before turning into an alley when he senses something is wrong. He peeks around the corner and sees 4 SUVs, their headlights pouring through broken windows. At least 4 gunmen are taking a perimeter, and a laser light from one sniper is beaming into the east side. Main power seems to have been cut off the building. 

Jordan then notices something on the dashboard of the biggest SUV: a digital clock with 12:27, no 26, no- **SHIT.**  
Timers ticking down never mean well.

He locks, loads his tranquilizer gun, and aims for the snipers head. She was out in the open, and that was a mistake. ***THWIP*** She’s out.

The gunmen outside are the problem. He readies his pistol. Dual wielding is inaccurate, but it will have to do. He gets two in his sights (the idiots have their guard down and are talking to one another). Shooting them both would be the fastest option. ***THWIP* *BLAM*** One dead, one out and two to go.  
Unfortunately, one of the other guards see the two fall and proceeds to shout “INTRUDER! TAKE CO-“  
 ***THWIP*** And he’s out. 

One guard left. The smart bastard hid behind an SUV and is starting to call for backup. How many of these pigeons are there? **Time check = 11:43.**  
Jordan crouches and sees the rookie’s legs. This is gonna be a waste of bullets, he groans.  
 ***BLAM*** Through the ankle. The guard falls on his arms in pain.  
 ***BLAM*** Through the elbow. The poor sap lands on his face, and rolls on the floor in pain. The poor pigeon, who can’t decide whether to clutch his leg or arm, saw Jordan’s eyes and knew what’s coming next.

***BLAM*** Right between the eyes.

**TIME = 11:25, 3 tranq darts, 3 and 7 lead alloy bullets left.  
3 out, 2 dead.**

Jordan runs toward the two unconscious guards and disarms them. He sheathes his tranquilizer now that his cover is blown and grabs a shotgun. He hurriedly bashes the headlights off the SUVs and runs in the building. 

Jordan really doesn’t know where to go. Scott and Stiles could be anywhere. In that moment of frustration, he hears shots in the hallway to the left. Hoping the shots missed their targets, he follows the hallway. He sees three men unloading clips towards an empty hallway. They haven’t noticed him yet.

Time for his favorite tactic: The Trojan Horse.

* * *

**INSIDE THE FILE ROOM  
SCOTT POV**

Scott was about to jump out when he heard a vaguely familiar voice call out down the hallway.

“Hey! You three! What are you shooting at? The boss says we have 10 minutes left to get what we’re looking for,” said the familiar voice.

“What are you talking about? We’re supposed to catch the stragglers. Boss said nobody gets out, not even a mouse,” one of them replies.

“And how are we holding up?,” the familiar voice asks. Scott hears footsteps going closer to the group. The not-so-strange stranger’s heartbeat is normal, unlike his pursuers.

“There’s a kid at the end of the hallway and we’re closing up on him. No witnesses or survivors, right?”

“Right.”  
 ***BLAM* *BLAM* BLAM*** Three groans and thuds follow.  
“Bastards. Targeting kids.”

**3RD POV**

Jordan reloads his second and last clip, and puts away the shotgun. He picks up two pistols from the bodies; they each have 3 bullets left. These gunmen will get their own rules back at them. NO SURVIVORS. 

“Scott?! Stiles?! Is that you down the hallway?,” Jordan calls. “It’s me, Troy!”

Scott comes out of the room with a found bulletproof vest covering his face. “Troy?! What are you doing here? Are you one of the hunters?,” he asks.

“Hunters?? I’m here to get you and Stiles out of here. Do you know where he is?,” Jordan answers.

Scott takes a moment to look him over. No sign of lying, no scent of anger, just concern. He starts to reply, “There’s no time, you have to get out of here there’s a-“

“Bomb. I know; I saw a timer outside. Look, I think I can defuse the bomb. I just need to find it. But, I have to get you and Stiles out of here first.”

“We’re not leaving without our parents. Don’t ask why, but they’re trapped here, in a jail cell.”

“I’ll get them out. Just lead the way.”

Scott starts to jog when he hears, “Hey Scott, wait.” He turns around to face Jordan.

“Do you know how to use one of these?,” Jordan says holding up a gun he took from his victims. “Take it. You might have to learn how to use one quick.”

**Scott: 3 stolen bullets  
** **Troy: 3 stolen bullets, a full clip of 7, 3 tranq darts, and a shotgun.**  
 **Time left: 9:28**

* * *

**ELSEWHERE**

Matt was closing in to an exit, Zombie Jackson on his tail as a precaution. When lo and behold, Derek pops up to block the way. “No, get out of the way! I have to get out of here!,” Matt screams.

“I’m not leaving until I take care of a certain scaly situation,” Derek grunts, cracking his neck.

“You can’t beat Jackson, Derek.”

“Who said anything about Jackson, Matt?” Derek lunges for Matt, when Jackson grabs him mid-leap. 

The two behemoths are duking it out in the hallway, slash for slash, kick for kick. Jackson tries to slide between Derek’s legs to get behind him, but Derek saw that move before. 

He grabs the snake’s tail and uses it to throw him into the ceiling then back to the floor. Derek was about to stomp on Jackson’s chest with his boot when the Kanima uses his tail to yank Derek’s other foot off the floor.

They both recover instantly into a crouch position, staring, hissing, and growling. Jackson was first to pounce, aiming to slice at the Alpha’s face and neck. Derek, on the defensive, hefted a strong uppercut to the reptile’s neck before the envenomed claw lands. He then uses his momentum to heave a bicycle kick, sending Jackson out through a window behind him.

In that small, short reprieve, Derek hears Matt laugh out loud. He scans the hallway and sees the teen was already out the door. _Goddammit_ , he curses under his breath.

Matt starts to pout. “I’m sorry for using Jackson as a distraction, Derek. I really am,” he whines. That frowns turns into a smirk. “Actually… I’m not.”  
Jackson’s form slithers closer to its master, outside the police station’s double doors. Matt pats its head slowly and sweetly.

“You’ll find it hard to believe, Derek, but I’m not after your pack. I actually, deep down, wanted to be part of it. The strength, the bond, the power. Oh, but this little scaly issue is putting everything on hold.  
You see, Derek, I just want to live my life. But, my life HAD to start with the swim team’s deaths. So, if you and your pups will just leave me alone, the murders will stop. Everyone lives happily. Ever. After,” Matt ends with a drawl.

“The deaths will not stop once the change starts, Matt. I don’t know how, but I can still save you.”

“And why on Earth, would you do that, Derek?,” Matt asks, intrigued.

“Because I promised.”

“I don’t remember you making that promise with me, Derek.”

“No, I didn’t. I promised my father.” Derek starts to walk tentatively closer to Matt. The boy clenches his fist, tempted to run away.  
“I remember that night I first met you, Matt. Do you?” Another step closer.

“You were cold, shivering, wet and scared. You told the police nothing. You were broken,” Derek continues.

“Well, almost drowning does that to you, Derek,” Matt spat out.

“Oh, I know, Matt. I’ve almost died before. Multiple times.” Another step.  
“It creates a sinking feeling. It isolates you. No one else would understand.” Another step.  
“But, the thing is, some people do. Other people who are broken. Just. Like. You.” Another step.

Matt holds his breath, looking unsure. His fists loosen slightly.

“I made my dad a promise that night, Matt. That I would take care of this town.” Another step.  
“It started that night with 5 kids. One of them was you.” Another step.  
“That is when it all started. When we all tried to save the world, together.” Another step.  
“Let me save you, Matt. Let me in.”

Matt replies, trying to be snarky. “Huh. Well, don’t you have a lot of words today, Derek.” His hands are shaking, his fingers rubbing his thigh. “Aren’t you acting out of character? You’re supposed to be the silent biker type.”

“I figured words will get to you faster. A certain ADHD kid taught me that.”

“What happened to the thought of trying to kill me?,” Matt asks.

“You didn’t hear me. I said I had to take care of you.” Another step.  
“Let me help you, Matt.” Derek was barely 4 steps away. He could bridge that gap if he wanted to, but he was waiting for Matt to do it for himself.  
“Please,” Derek whispers.

***BLAM* “INTRUDER TAKE CO-“ *BLAM**BLAM**BLAM***

They both heard the gunshots and the scream. Matt pushes Derek away, and runs for cover.  
Derek curses to himself and has to make a choice: run after Matt, or save Scott and Stiles.

“GODDAMMIT. Those idiots are getting in trouble again,” Derek says as he runs back into the police station.

* * *

**BACK BY THE JAIL CELLS**

Scott and "Troy" run into the room to find Melissa and John, still unable to escape.

“Mom!”  
“Scott!” 

The wolf pup runs to embrace her mom through the steel bars.  
“Let me check your gunshot, baby. Please. I have to patch it up.”

“No, Mom. You don’t have to. I’ll explain later. Just wait until I get you out of this jail cell.”

Scott runs to desk and the walls searching for some kind of key ring to let her out.

“You won’t find a key ring, Scott,” the Sheriff chimes in, groaning.

“Sheriff,” Troy chimes in, nodding in his direction, announcing his presence. Troy points a gun at the Sheriff. “I’m sorry to do this, but-“

***THWIP* *THWIP***

**Author's Note:**

> Did you get Jordan's message?  
> Reminder: code words start after Chapter 11. Will you or won't you get through? I need time to edit and rewrite stuffs! See you soon!


End file.
